


Interrupted

by spicedrobot



Series: Ko-fi Strawpoll Compilation [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Play, Cuckolding, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Identity Porn, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Sex, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Slut Shaming, Train Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 10:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedrobot/pseuds/spicedrobot
Summary: Hanzo wears a toy in public that Jesse controls remotely. Things get infinitely more complicated when Reaper discovers him.





	Interrupted

****Gabe doesn’t believe in coincidence, but maybe he should. The man across the crowded train car is none other than agent Shimada. He looks different with his hair shorn and jacket tugged over his huge, muscled shoulders, but Gabe recognizes that silhouette anywhere. He’s never seen him up close, and he eases through the crowd for a better look. Gabe’s pain is minimal today; Moira’s recent cocktail had made him almost feel human again, well enough to do a little recon.

Hanzo’s shorter up close, less regal. His shoulders are bunched to the bottom of his flushed ears, the back of his neck splotched and bright with sweat. The train slows for a stop, and Hanzo wavers on his feet, almost falling into the person at his right. He turns to murmur an apology, his face scarlet, lips parted and bite-swollen.

A familiar shiver courses through him. Genji had been a looker too, once upon a time.

Sombra had annoyingly kept Gabe privy to his former subordinates’ whereabouts. Genji with his tin can master, McCree and his new, self-loathing boyfriend. Gabe doesn’t see a mop of messy brown hair or catch a whiff of cheap tobacco.

So, a Shimada all alone in a crowded train car, red-faced as a drunken schoolgirl.

Gabe moves a few steps closer.

Hanzo’s at a distinct disadvantage. Overwatch doesn’t know Reaper’s identity, and the older Shimada wouldn’t recognize him, especially in his leather jacket and old jeans, only his eyes visible between a skullcap and a sick mask covering most of his face. A certain giddiness bubbles in his chest.

Hanzo makes a deep grunting sound, then sharply exhales through his teeth. He leans his head against the window, the cityscape blurring by while he looks seconds from collapsing.

Much too distracted to notice a man slowing drawing closer.

* * *

Jesse leans back in his chair at the watchpoint. The room’s hazy from his cigarillo, and that’s just fine by him, a good smoke or two makes listening to every soft, restrained sound Hanzo utters through his comm all the more delicious.

It had taken less convincing than he’d thought to get Hanzo to wear the new toy. His lover’s a proud one, but there’s a wildness to him, a hunger that Jesse shares. He can barely stop smiling, his metal thumb sliding over the holo interface glowing on his desk. All the control, all of Hanzo, at his fingertips. Well, mostly. He can’t see Hanzo like this, but that’s just fine. Jesse’s got a good imagination, and it’s not like he hasn’t seen those sweet tits all up and personal before, heard the same deep groans he’s hearing through the fuzziness of the comm, the ones that make him needy and sweaty without fail.

Jesse scratches through the hair along his belly, closer to his chubbed cock, already plump from Hanzo’s sounds.

“Feelin’ good, hun? Toy’s barely at a third of its power.” He has to bite his lips to keep from rambling like he usually does just so he can hear Hanzo’s wavering huff.

“I can take much more than this.”

Hanzo would sound confident if not for the terseness of his words, harshened by a tight mouth.

“That so?” Jesse exhales, ashing his cigarillo before dragging the digital slider up ten percent.

Hanzo doesn’t make a sound for a long time. Then, a ragged gasp fizzles through the comm. Jesse’s grinning so hard his face hurts. He drags his fingers around the base of his cock, savoring the teasing sensation. Something Hanzo’d do, something he may do after hours of being edged in public with Jesse to blame, and doesn’t that make his toes curl and belly warm?

Hanzo gasps again, less throaty, more on edge.

“...’lo, Hanzo.”

Several beats of silence.

“Hanzo, you ok? What’s wrong?” McCree’s hand lingers over the dial. For a moment, he’s worried he’s overreacting.

The next thing he hears freezes his spine.

“Don’t turn it off.”

* * *

For all his earlier dishevelment, Hanzo does his best to keep himself together. It’s a hopeless struggle, but Gabe admires his resilience.

From the outside, nothing looks amiss. Gabe lingers behind Hanzo, maybe an inch closer than he absolutely had to be, but in a car full of people, it hardly seems inappropriate. What is inappropriate are the small, smoky tendrils that slip beneath Hanzo’s shirt, sliding along his hips, tinier, wispy fingers ghosting up to trace at the hefty curves of his chest.

The pure, mortified shock of Hanzo’s face in the window has mellowed into hot, resigned embarrassment. He doesn’t fight, just stands stock still, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Hanzo looks down, unable to meet the stranger’s gaze even through the window’s reflection.

“You got yourself quite a prize here, McCree,” Gabe murmurs into the shell of Hanzo’s ear. He’s just close enough to hear the cowboy’s shocked huff and feel Hanzo stiffen. “It’s your fault for sending him into public like this. Ripe for the picking.”

Gabe cups the heaviness of his chest, smoke spidering smaller and upward, twisting and curling around Hanzo’s nipples, warm and achingly hard. Gabe laughs once at Hanzo’s muffled grunt as the tendrils pluck and tease with the barest pressure before tugging meanly.

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you,” Gabe says, the nanites of his body pulsing in time to each quiet groan and whimper trapped in Hanzo’s throat. “Go on. Turn around. Make a scene.”  His words puff over Hanzo’s neck, gone beet red from the treatment. “Fight me.”

More smoke slips from his form, traces the inner divots of Hanzo’s hips. He can feel the heat the man’s putting off, Hanzo’s pubes are damp with it, and Gabe’s tendrils card through the trim, coarse hairs, pleased with their texture.

“You trained him well. All groomed for his master.” Each word is a heated whisper against Hanzo’s skull. The train isn’t a quiet place, and the rush of the machinery and the idle conversation around them hides Gabe’s words from the other passengers.

He wonders how much he should tease him, tendrils idling next to the base of his cock. Hanzo trembles in place, not quite straining into his touch, not yet, even as the tendrils at his nipples solidify, corporeal enough to seal around them, hungry little mouths sucking and lapping at the hard, swollen nubs.

“Turn the toy up,” Gabe orders. His tendrils slap and move, anxious with Gabe’s excited energy, finally curling around the base of Hanzo’s engorged cock.

“Hanzo,” McCree’s scratchy voice mumbles through the comm. A bit lost. Hanzo makes a sound entirely too loud, hurriedly bites his lips to silence himself.

“Go on. Tell him you want it.”

Gabe watches Hanzo’s jaw work, a vein bulging along his shaved temple, the sight making Gabe grin. It’s all too perfect, how Hanzo struggles with himself, that stoic, handsome face locked in shame, in his own pathetic lust as he squirms in the grip of his enemy. Gabe hasn’t felt alive like this in a long while, eyes trained hungrily on everything that gives Hanzo away, his gasps that fog the window, his lips slick with a sheen of saliva, how he tries to make himself so small even when he won’t push away, helpless as a kitten.

“I’m waiting.”

The tendrils give a long, luxurious stroke, reveling in how stout and thick Hanzo’s cock is, how pre-cum runs in rivulets over the sweltering crown and into the smoky warmth of his nanites. Hanzo looks seconds from passing out, his voice a gurgled mess when he mumbles his surrender into the comm.

Gabe feels the vibrations pick up, and he grins like a madman beneath his mask, his eyes glittering in the window’s reflection. Hanzo’s cock jumps in his grip, his whole body locking up and arching forward.

“Ah, ah.”

Hanzo eyes roll back when his tendrils seal around the base of his cock and squeeze. His mouth lulls open, his gaze glassy-eyed and embarrassingly sloppy. The train rocks, and Gabe takes his chance, plants his hand on the window to block Hanzo’s face from onlookers as much as he can.

“Fucking slut. Keep it together,” Gabe whispers, but he can’t force the absolute pleasure from his voice, how sweet, how powerful he feels. McCree’s boyfriend angling his hips back, wanting something more than what he’s getting, his body tightening, milking the toy inside him, aching on the brink that Gabe denies him.

He slides his tendrils around the tight curve of Hanzo’s balls, settling behind them for good measure, and Hanzo bites his lip so hard it bleeds. Finally, Gabe allows himself more of Hanzo, his form wavering only a little while he feeds his energy into thicker, denser smoke, slipping into the back of Hanzo’s pants. Hanzo releases a soft groan when his tendrils follow the vibrations to the source, and Gabe's cock aches against his stomach.

Lube, thick and sloppily applied, leaks out of Hanzo, more dribbling free as he clutches and relaxes around the toy inside him, needing more, close to begging with how he gnashes his teeth together. Gabe wonders how long that fraying restraint will last until Hanzo bends over and pleads for Gabe to fuck him.

“Messy…” Gabe comments, sounding much more put together than he feels.

He wishes he could fuck this whore silly in the middle of the car, leave McCree’s toy all used up and drooling for the authorities to collect. Or maybe he could steal him away to Talon. Hanzo’s on their dossier to recruit, after all. Akande would be so pleased, especially when he learned of Gabe’s particular recruitment method.

His tendrils seal around the base of the toy, testing its give, how tightly Hanzo clings to it, even stretched to the brink. He wonders how big it is, how long they had been playing this game. Had McCree trained him to pure submission? To bend over for any cock offered him?

He frowns.

Gabe won’t leave. Not until he gets his fill.

He moves quickly with his free hand, tugs out a small knife and slides it along the back of Hanzo’s pants. The cut’s small, just wide enough for him to catch a glimpse of the toy and that swollen rim. Gabe waits for another stop, all the while teasing his prey, pulling his ass cheeks apart, slipping the tips of his tendrils inside Hanzo next to the buzzing toy. Hanzo looks so fiendish in the reflection, blindsided as Gabe begins to work Hanzo’s cock again, the weakest touch making his legs quake and drool slip down his chin. All the while he hears McCree’s unsteady breaths just beneath Hanzo’s muffled groans. It’s easy to imagine he’s working his cock while his boyfriend’s molested by their enemy.

The train car fills with more passengers, and Gabe shifts forward undetected. The fabric between his thighs disperses just enough to release his cock and ease it inside the secret slit he made. He swallows his groan when the flushed tip butts against the base of the vibrating toy, and Hanzo squeaks, knowing just what hot, heavy thing drags against his ass, leaving lines of slick across it.

“Gonna fuck your little whore, McCree,” Gabe whispers. The sound lodged in Hanzo’s throat does things to him, a line of broken words so quiet Gabe barely realizes he’s not speaking English.

He ruts to the swaying of the car, bumping and nudging the toy. His tendrils wiggle deeper, pulling Hanzo’s flesh taut, stretching and testing, and Hanzo dips his head, quaking like a leaf, angling his hips back against him.

“Hanzo, hun...I…” McCree groans.

Hanzo’s presenting to him, ass up as much as the position allows, and Gabe bites his lip and shoves in earnest, catching against that swollen rim, feeling it almost give but ends up sliding between his thighs, against his own tendrils, between those sweaty cheeks, a delirious almost fuck that has Gabe gritting his teeth.

“Fucking–take it,” he grunts in Hanzo’s flushed ear.

Hanzo heaves silently, a full body tremble that relaxes him just enough for Gabe’s cock to catch, to barely edge in against the toy. His cockhead’s trapped against the buzzing toy, cletched impossibly tight by Hanzo’s body, and it hurts, a delicious squeeze-ache that shocks his orgasm from him in a rush.

He thrusts, pathetic, shallow pumps of his hips as he loads Hanzo with cum, most of it spilling down the backs of Hanzo’s hairy thighs. Satisfaction replaces the hot shame of coming so soon when he realizes the little slut’s coming on his half-buried cock, his broken whimpers drawing a troubled gaze from the one of the men standing next to him.

Gabe pulls back, letting the last few spurts dribble onto Hanzo’s ass. Then his cock neatly disappears beneath his ghostly clothes, and Gabe looks as proper and casual as he had at the beginning of his trip.

The same cannot be said for Hanzo, who whimpers at his withdrawal, his gloved hand reaching back for Gabe, trying to drag him forward, still mindless with the toy buzzing away inside him. 

“Wait...m-more...”

Gabe smacks Hanzo’s hand away.

“Greedy. You’ll have to beg better for it next time.” Gabe smirks so widely beneath his mask as Hanzo’s mouth slackens. “Later, McCree.”

As Gabe pulls away, exiting the train seconds later at the next stop, he wonders if he will find Hanzo again, eager to be fucked by any rude passerby brazen enough to claim him.


End file.
